


Formal Mare

by casstayinmyass



Series: Mare [1]
Category: Ghost (Sweden Band), Repugnant (Band)
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Formalwear, Help This Feral Man, Kissing, Mary Hates Nice Clothes, Quickies, Suit Kink, Teasing, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:14:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25665736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casstayinmyass/pseuds/casstayinmyass
Summary: You and Mary have to dress up for a dinner party. Mary doesn't do formal wear.
Relationships: Mary Goore/Reader
Series: Mare [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1907701
Comments: 4
Kudos: 56





	Formal Mare

**Author's Note:**

> Based on discord chats!

You’d never know Mary wasn’t _made_ for tuxedos if it weren’t for the unseemly scowl on his face. You can tell he hates this with every inch of his being; you knew that would be unavoidable ever since you received the dinner invitation from old friends, and it had entered your mind to dress up for it.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, reaching your thumbnail up to bite. You’ve never—literally never—seen your boyfriend in a suit before, and it, well... _suits_ him. “Mar, you look—stop scratching your armpit—you look fucking beautiful.”

He scrunches up his nose. “I haven’t even got my blood on yet.”

“No, there’s no ‘yet’. No blood tonight.”

“ _Fuckin’_ —”

“Mary, I want us to look nice!” you moan, moving your face back out of sight into your shared bathroom.

“You always look nice,” he grumbles, bending over backward with the flexibility of a circus performer to check himself out in the mirror, “Matter of fact, so do I, I don’t see why I gotta look like a fuckin’ butler.”

“Butlers don’t wear all black.”

Mary grins at himself, licking along his top lip. “Sexy goth ones do.”

“Look, just bear it for the night, okay? Please? For me.”

“That’s the whole reason I’m doing this shit,” he sighs, tightening his satin tie up to his neck. “For you, babe.” Your heart melts a little, and he continues from the other room. “But I’m putting my foot down. Literally. I gotta wear some converse with all this, make it my own.”

“Fine. Nobody’s really gonna be looking at your feet, anyway.” You check your own reflection in the mirror. Fixing your hair nervously to show off the dainty black choker Mary had gotten you for your one year, you nudge open the door. “Okay. What do you think?”

Mary’s busy inspecting his charmingly crooked teeth in the mirror, but turns when you come out. His kohl-rimmed eyes widen, taking in the flattering semi-formal dress you’ve got on. “Mm, uh...”

“What?” You blush, doing a little spin.

“How ‘bout we, uh... how ‘bout we skip this stupid dinner thing, and I tear that dress off you right now?”

“Mary,” you giggle, approaching him. He gets his hands on your shoulders, smoothing them down your arms as he glances salaciously down your body.

“So gorgeous. And this shit is _all mine_.”

“Remember that along with your manners tonight,” you tell him pointedly.

“I’m a fuckin’ peach,” he snaps, crossing his arms angrily. He looks like an angry cat, albeit a handsome one with slicked back hair in a bespoke suit.

The two of you get in the car, Mary trying to readjust his balls in the suit pants. You bat his hand away. “Stop touching, you’re gonna rip them!”

“The inseam in this fucker’s too high, making my balls purple. I hope you’re not planning on having any kids or anything with me.”

You lean your head down to check. “The inseam’s _fine_.”

“While you’re down there...”

“Mary,” you laugh, and fluff your hair in your mirror. Mary checks his own reflection.

“Shit, this tie is choking me out, babe.”

“Good thing you’re into that.” You start the car. “Okay, I gotta preface, since it’s our first time meeting them as a couple. My friend is a little...” You cock your head, and Mary nods.

“They’re normies.”

“I wouldn’t use that word, but yes.”

“Great.”

“Just be nice. You how to be nice!” you giggle. “Sometimes. Try a nice smile maybe.” He looks over at you, and gives you a half smile, some of his teeth showing. Your breath is stolen—he looks like the prom date you never had in this outfit, and you’re suddenly taken by the thought of that. Mary, getting all dressed up for you even though he hates it, standing on your porch with a wilted corsage and a boyish smile. The idea makes you want to kiss your boyfriend, because he _is_ your boyfriend, not just a prom date or a one night’s stand you’ll forget. Thankfully, he reads your mind, leaning over the console to capture your lips. As always with the two of you, a simple kiss never remains that, and he buries his hand in your hair, deepening it until you’re both breathless. When he pulls away, he ducks his head.

“Sorry. Think I fucked up your hair a little.”

“All good. It could use a little tousle,” you breathe, hitting the gas. Mary pulls looks back into his mirror, using his finger to spread around your stained lipstick on his lips for some color.

When you arrive at your friend’s place, your nerves are still buzzing a little. This is the first time anyone from your own life (besides your parents and immediate family) has met Mary. Mary peers over you up at the house from the car.

“Looks like Andy fucking Griffith’s house.”

“That’s dramatic.”

“Okay. I think I just saw Mr. Rogers over there.”

“ _Mary_.”

“Looks like I walked onto the fuckin’ set of The Burbs.”

“In such a scenario, we’d be the spooky killer neighbors I’m guessing.”

“We share a brain, babe.” Before Mary can make any more suburbia jokes, the two of you get out.

“We’re early,” you say, checking your phone for the time.

“Lucky our car has a big backseat,” Mary grins, snaking a hand around your torso.

“Sorry,” you smirk, “For once, I don’t want to walk into a dinner party looking like I’ve just been fucked.”

“That’s the hottest way to look!” Mary protests. “Especially on you. When your eyes get all half lidded and your hair frizzes up? That shit gets me going.”

“Read my lips.”

He looks around. “Fine. How ‘bout you blow me?”

“Is that a threat, or are you actually asking me for a blow job?”

“You’re the only person on this earth I’d never threaten,” he deadpans, “And if you think I'm asking for something sexual, chances are I'm asking for something sexual." 

“Are you really _that_ horny right now?!”

“You just look so fuckin’ good, hun,” he whines, a noise that makes you bite your lip. It _does_ do things to you, imagining getting on your knees in front of this handsome, debonair version of Mary that you never see, pulling his hard cock out through his suit pants to suck him off against your car. But, you have to remember what you’re here for tonight, and the appearances you have to keep.

“Later,” you promise. He jams his hands in his pockets.

“Alright. Fine. We got five minutes? Long enough to bank my nicotine for the night.” You pull out your phone again to wait with Mary. He lights up as you send off a text to your friend, letting her know you’re almost there. Mary speed smokes with deep drags, tilting his head up skyward to exhale. You sneak a glance at him, and are suddenly lost in the sight beside you like a vision. His pale neck is elongated, graceful as he looks up at the stars, bare to you with lean muscles flexing. It’s strange to see Mary without some kind of cut or bruise on any given square inch of his body; the unmarked skin there is begging for a hickie. You look away, opting instead to quell temptation and snuggle into his shoulder. He puts a comfortable arm around you, keeping you close against his chest. Once he’s finished his cigarette, he opens the car door, dropping the butt into the glove compartment and grabbing a pack of mint gum. He pops two, and you both head across the street with a bottle of wine in hand.

“I should buy you a vape for Christmas,” you say, hooking your arm in his.

“Don’t fuckin’ try it.”

You snort. “At least buy a proper portable ashtray.”

“Glove compartment works fine. I empty it out once a month.”

“That’s fucking gross,” you laugh. He sticks his tongue out at you, tongue piercing glinting in the moonlight, and you reach out to knock on the front door of the suburban house. He slicks back his hair one last time, and you get a good look at him in the porch light. He’s got his hands in his pockets, cheekbones accentuated now that his hair was off his face. As much as he likes to deny it and hide it with his bangs and fake blood, he’s stupidly handsome. “Hey. Guess what?”

“What?”

“I think you’re cute,” you tell him. The tops of his ears tinge red, but he turns to you with a scowl.

“Leave me alone, I’m not cute.”

“You’re hot, then,” you tell him. When he goes to turn away, you cup his face. “I mean it. You’re a real catch, Mar.” His green eyes widen a little, and you lean up to peck him on the cheek. Although he grumbles, his hand slips into yours, thumb rubbing your palm in thanks. The door opens on your friend.

“ _Ahhh_! My god! It’s been so long!”

“Hey! It’s so good to see you,” you smile. Your friend gives you a hug, and you introduce the man next to you to her. “This is Mary, my boyfriend.” Your friend holds out her hand to shake. Mary fist bumps it.

“Uh. Nice to meet you... Mary,” your friend feigns a smile.

“Likewise, sweetheart.” You cough, and your friend’s husband comes to the door.

“Oh! This is Brad,” she smiles wide, patting the other, buff-looking guy on the chest. He looks like a complete douchebag, but that was all a matter of perspective you suppose.

“Hi there! Nice to meet you. Lucky I got home in time from hitting the gym tonight—I do my workouts in the evening, right before dinner. No pain, no gain, am I right?”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Mary mutters.

“What’s that?” Brad asks, narrowing his eyes.

“He...” you try to step in, stammering.

“I’m, um, deeply religious,” Mary mutters. “I pray to Jesus Christ every hour, on the hour. Jesus is Lord. Hail heaven, Amen.” He crosses himself upside down, and you bite your lip to keep from laughing. This was going to be a long night.

Once you get inside, you see that dinner’s already prepared. Thankfully there wouldn’t have to be any awkward small talk, and you could all focus on your food. You catch yourself in this line of thinking. You’re supposed to be enjoying yourself! This is your friend after all. With you both catching up in the living room, that leaves Mary with Brad. Mary knows he can’t be rude for the sake of your friendship, but if it means not talking to this airhead? He’d rather be an asshole.

“Marty! Come help me pour the wine!”

“Who do I look like, Dionysus?” Mary mutters. Brad’s face twists in confusion.

“Who’s that?” Mary smiles wryly.

“My old AA sponsor.”

Missing the utter sarcasm of his lie, Brad slaps him on the back too hard. “Good on you for getting your life back, Marty.”

“It’s Mary,” he growls. 

“Oh. Not really a guy’s name, huh? Short for something?”

“Short for Marijuana,” Mary snaps back, “Which I need a fuckin’ ounce of after talking to you.” His patience is wearing thin.

“Ah.” Brad frowns. “Well I don’t have any of your _exotic_ _namesake_ unfortunately, but come on in, we’ll pour some wine instead. If I’m being honest with you dude, I prefer beer. I just drink this stuff for the wife. You?” Mary squints at him.

“Wine is a nice substitute for goat’s blood once in a while.”

Brad punches him on the arm playfully. “You’re a funny guy, Marty.” Mary feels like bashing Brad’s head in and using _his_ blood to smear his face.

A little later, you all sit down to dinner. You had caught up with your friend, and discovered she was just as self-centered and fake as you remembered. Why did you agree to this dinner party again?

“So! How did you and Mary meet?” your friend asks. You turn to smile at Mary.

“I met him after one of his shows.”

“Oh! What kind of music do you play?” Brad asks. “Folk? Pop? Love me some—”

“Death metal,” Mary deadpans.

“Ah! Never would have guessed! You seem like the kind of guy who’d be good with a harp or a flute,” your friend tries to joke light-heartedly.

“Skin flute, more like.” Brad’s comment is snide, but you cringe. Mary’s quicker.

“Was that supposed to offend me? I’m sorry you think it’s a personality defect _Brad_ , being able to give good blow jobs. All the people I’ve gone down on are a lot happier than you are, unless your wife is as talented as I am, which I sincerely fucking doubt.” Mary picks up his knife and deep throats it, successfully taking it all the way down without gagging. Old party trick. You stifle another giggle, and clear your throat to cut through the tension in the room that had developed.

“Anyway! Yeah, so Mary was playing at a local club I liked to hang out at, so I thought it might be fun to join the pit. At first, I wasn’t interested in him. I was just there for the music. But I had this one guy who wouldn’t stop touching me in the pit, and Mary got rid of him for me. Total ‘Back to the Future’ moment—couldn’t get him out of my head after that.” You make the mistake of putting your hand on Mary’s leg and squeezing. He picks your hand up, and drops it right on top his dick. You suck your bottom lip right into your mouth, _feeling_ him smirk at you.

“Oh yeah. I saw her in the audience. If I’m being honest, the first thing I noticed was her t—”

“Okay, did you make these green beans yourself?” you interject, digging your nails into Mary’s leg. Your friend nods slowly. “Could you give me the recipe? They are amazing!”

As you eat, Mary obediently relegates his hand safely to your knee. As you knew it would, it climbs higher and higher up your leg as dinner progresses, until it’s almost situated between your legs.

“What have you been doing since high school?” you ask your friend, nearly squeaking. Mary has lifted the skirt of your dress up, and begun to rub you through your panties. You tune out after successfully convincing your friend to tell her life story, and Mary really gets in there, even going so far as to brush your panties aside, the contact of his cold finger on your clit making you gasp. You chance a look down between Mary’s legs. He’s got a slight tent in his pants... _that isn’t good._ You gently nudge Mary’s hand out from beneath your skirt, and flick it away. He’s disappointed, but keeps it on his own leg.

“—and that’s when my mom and I moved into the new house, before I made the honour roll and star player of the rugby team.”

“ _Jesus_.” Mary gets up, abruptly interrupting the monologue with the screech of his chair. Everyone looks at him, and he checks a watch on his wrist he doesn’t have. “Eh... is it Jesus time already?”

“Every hour, on the hour,” you repeat, checking a watch you _also_ do not have.

Mary jerks a thumb behind him. “I’ve gotta go to the bathroom. Where’s the commode?”

“Just down the hall...” As Mary removes the napkin, your friend and her husband both stare in surprise down at his bulge.

“Oh. I’m not gonna jerk off in there, I promise,” he tells them, and you quickly swoop in to save him.

“He’s got a condition.”

“Yeah...” Mary elaborates, “My dick gets hard unexpectedly sometimes. Constant erections. Pretty debilitating. I could just be sitting there, minding my own business thinking about toast or some shit, then boom. Boner.”

“Geez,” your friend says softly, “I’m... uh, so sorry.”

“Yeah. It’s tough,” Mary nods. You kick his shin, and he gives a salute, heading off down the hall.

After dinner, as the many glasses of wine begin to drain and spirits became freer, you’re all starting to get a little bit tipsy—all except for Mary, who’s the designated driver of your household. 

“Would you...?” your friend giggles. “Would you get another bottle of... wine?”

You nod, getting up. “Where do you keep it?”

“Garage... just down the hall.”

You curtsy playfully, wagging your ass a little as you stand. Mary’s soft groan doesn’t escape you. You play with the short hem a little as you walk, dreaming up all the things Mary would do to you later once he got you out of this dress. Maybe he’d take his time with you. Maybe he’d fuck you fast, holding nothing back. Your red wine-soaked mind wanders to a conjured image of him palming himself under the table, trying his best to hide the erection he’d gotten from halfway fingering you. You push your way into the garage, trying not to moan at the thought.

Just as you find the right bottle, the garage lights go out.

“Shit,” you mutter. “HEY—!” A hand flies around to cover your mouth, and you nearly scream... until you smell the familiar scent of your boyfriend behind you.

“You gonna scream, babe?” he teases. You can hear his smile. “I’ll make ya scream.”

“Mary,” you giggle, “What are you doing?”

“Couldn’t wait,” he grunts, turning you around.

“You seriously couldn’t wait ‘til we’re home?”

“Fuck no.” Your back slams up against the garage door leading back into the house, and his hands reach around to palm your ass. “Your body in this dress? Drives me fuckin’ wild. I’ve been picturing you up against a wall this whole evening. We got time for a quickie.” A thrill runs through you as you nod. Two of his long fingers lift your dress, and he toys with your panties. “Are you wet for me?”

“Find out,” you mutter back. He reaches beneath you, and lifts you up with strength his noodle arms really shouldn’t have. You’ve learned by now that his guitar work does a lot to tone the arms—helps his finger work too, which you get to reap the benefits of. His fingertips dig into the flesh of your ass as he holds you up with one hand, keeping you pressed to the door. With his free hand, he reaches down to unbuckle his belt, shucking his pants down to pool around his knees.

“All that formal bullshit back there was driving me insane,” he growls in your ear, pulling at his collar before fumbling to get his dick out of his pants.

“Fuck it,” you moan, reaching up to run your hands through his hair and mess it up again, “Take me right here.” Mary groans as you take his length in hand, using the pre beading at the head to pump him a few times.

“Gonna cum if you keep doing that.”

“Then you can eat me out instead,” you breathe. That’s a pretty sweet deal, but it's not good enough for him.

“You said no mess. We’re not gonna make a mess,” he says, and moves your panties to the side. “As much as I love ‘em, no sloppy hand jobs tonight. Gotta keep this pretty dress looking right. And this suit... yeah, it itches. But I’d do me in this thing.” You nod. “So. You’re gonna keep my cum inside of you for the rest of the night, yeah? Aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you gasp. His dark eyes glare into yours, only made more intense by his stance and the power suit he’s wearing.

“Beg me,” he spits, snarling in your ear. “What do you want?”

“I want your cock,” you moan as quietly as you can, and his hair falls forward into his face as he pushes his hips forward, burying himself inside you. “I need you so bad.”

“I need you too.”

“We have to be fast.”

“I’ll be fast.”

“You have to be _so_ fast, Mar.”

“I’m on it.” You stretch your legs wider to hug his torso and accommodate him inside you, taking him all the way to the hilt. Once he’s fully seated inside, he gives a few rocks of his hips, circling them in nudging motions. After one particularly angled thrust, you cry out and bury your face in Mary’s shoulder. “There, huh?” he pants, bracing a hand against the door and tilting his hips to repeat this motion. “Looks like I found that real sweet spot, babygirl.”

“Don’t stop,” is all you can say, and he doesn’t. He starts to swivel his hips faster, not bothering to pull out all the way anymore as he fucks you harder against the wall. He doesn’t have time for that. “Mar, Mar, Mary... there, yeah,” you chant. The door should really be rattling by now with the force, but Mary’s doing a good job of bracing both your bodies so not much moves around. Your eyes descend from the ceiling to your boyfriend, how that graceful neck is straining. He’s gone a bit red around the collar where he keeps tugging and scratching, and you fixate on the skin there. You can’t help but attach your lips to his neck like you’ve been wanting to do all night, driving the final nail into the coffin of his well-groomed, pretty boy look.

Mary moans into your hair, and spurred on by this, you tear open the first two buttons on his shirt, sticking your hand inside to rub his chest. He seems to like that idea, and does the same to you, using his free hand to grope your left breast. His pace increases, pounding into you and hitting your g-spot every time. The fly of his tight dress pants is rubbing perfectly against your clit, and you’re well on your way to an orgasm.

“Fucking good,” he hisses in your hair. “Oh, yeah. That’s what I... ahh babe, _fuck, you’re tight_.” He bites his lip, nose scrunched and brows furrowed. He looks so determined, so fucking _desperate_ to get you off, and you’re overcome with a wave of affection for him. You lean up to kiss him, and he gasps into your mouth as you reach around to squeeze his ass.

“Don’t you dare fucking stop,” you whisper against his lips, tits bouncing as much as his wild hair is as his cock drives into you almost violently. 

“If I stop, you have full permission to kill me,” he groans. You tighten your legs even more around him, grinding down into each thrust. “Gonna cum... gonna fucking cum, babygirl, please tell me you’re close...”

“So close,” you gasp, “Mary, I need to... oh, right there!” His free hand slides up to wrap around your neck, closing around your pulse point to gently squeeze and hold you. Mary lets out a low whine, slowing his stuttering pace just a little to hold back. Your orgasm builds like a spark roaring into a wildfire, and Mary can tell by your heaving chest and flushed face that you’re about to climax.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he moans, “So pretty. Love fucking this cunt. Screw those other two, they don’t know how to have fun like we do, huh?”

“N... hnnn...” you mumble, eyes rolling back. “Mary!”

“Cum right fucking now for me, baby,” he sneers, and you grab onto his tie, jerking him in for a rough kiss, a gnash of teeth and biting lips. Blood is drawn, you can both taste it, and Mary grunts your name through the kiss, stalling deep inside you and finishing. Your own orgasm hits, and you ride it out with him, both of you trying desperately not to make a noise. It takes a few seconds after you’re both done to catch your breath.

“You gotta...” he pants, breathless, “You gotta let me go. Got a vice grip on my dick.”

“Don’t wanna,” you say petulantly. “Stay.”

“Arm’s breaking.”

“We’ll sit down.”

“They’re in there, though,” he tries. “The charade? Dinner? Your shitty friend? My buddy out there, _Brad_?”

“Since when do you care?” you huff. “You’d fuck me in front of them if it meant getting off.”

“Fair enough,” he mutters, going in for another kiss. The garage door is suddenly opened from the other side, and you and Mary topple backward, him on top of you. Your friend stares down at you both, still sober enough to register what she’d just walked in on and cross her arms. 

“Couldn’t find the wine?”

\---

Mary holds your hand and swings it as you walk across the street from their house, having been told to promptly get out. “Worth it,” he says, loosening his tie with his other hand.

“Totally worth it,” you whisper. You turn to him once you get to the car, and sigh. His hair is flipped forward again, and though the formal look was a treat, this is a sight for sore eyes. The insufferable punk pulls you in by the waist and goes to kiss you again, but you hold up a finger. He furrows his brow in confusion. You smirk, wiping your red lipstick off onto said finger.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asks. You use the red to paint his forehead in make-do blood, all the way down to his chin.

“Putting the ‘gore’ back in Mary Goore,” you laugh, and pull him in by his tie to kiss him. 


End file.
